


Social Contact

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Nipple Play, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Kink Meme. Enjolras has sensitive nipples. There's a little R/Jehan background stuff, but it's not central.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Social Contact

There were some nights when all Enjolras wanted to do was sprawl across his couch with a good book or with some paperwork and get on with it. It was quiet, calming, and relaxing to an extent - even a man who loved to talk to people as much as Enjolras did needed time to recharge his batteries, as it were, once the speech giving was over.

Other nights, Enjolras needed as much human contact as possible. Sometimes, he did this by eating a meal with the other amis, staying late in the Musain until all the other amis were drunk and giggling. Other times, he stayed with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, perhaps watching a film or playing a video game (Courfeyrac, much to Enjolras’ despair, was extremely good at selecting games Enjolras would be  _completely_  awful at), or otherwise just staying up and talking well into the night, until Courfeyrac’s head was dropping onto one of their shoulders and Enjolras’ own eyelids were heavy with sleep.

Tonight, he only needed one man. Jehan Prouvaire had answered Grantaire’s door in black skinny jeans and  _only_  them, shirtless with massage oil still glistening on his shoulders, the tattoos across his arms and his stomach seeming high-lighted by the dim flicker of Grantaire’s kitchen bulb. He’d taken a toke from the rolled joint in his hand, before turning back and calling, “Grantaire.”

Enjolras swallowed when Grantaire came in, black lipstick smudged on his own face and at his neck from Jehan’s attentions, but the brunet smiled when he saw Enjolras. “Good evening.” 

Jehan looked between them, grinning widely, and he handed Grantaire the joint, slapping his shoulder as he picked up his jacket and put it on without bothering to look for his shirt, grabbing his satchel and swinging it over his shoulder.

"Night night, boys." He called as he left, and Enjolras heard the door slam without seeing it, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Grantaire. He wasn’t drunk (Enjolras could tell at a glance where Grantaire had been drinking or not these days, after knowing him for so long), but his hair was dishevelled, and on top of the black smudges on his mouth, his jaw, his neck, he looked unkempt.

"Enjolras.  _Salut._ " Grantaire greeted lightly, drawing out the second syllable before putting the joint aside in an ashtray.

"I didn’t interrupt?"

"We were done." Grantaire said lightly, reaching up to put a hand in his own hair and ruffle it gently, and he hummed to himself as he leaned, picking up Jehan’s shirt from the floor and putting it on the side as he led Enjolras into his living room. "Massage and kissing."

"Can I- I mean, is it alright if I…?"

"Stay with me." Grantaire’s invitation came easily from his lips, and he  _smiled_ at Enjolras, looking as if he had not a care in the world. Enjolras removed his coat and Grantaire took it without a second thought, disappearing into the closet to hang it up. Then, he moved forwards, and Enjolras was conscious of how tight the other man’s t-shirt was as he leaned, pulling Enjolras down to his own height to catch him in a kiss.

There was a pleasant taste lingering on Grantaire’s lips, fruity and sweet, but Enjolras had seen the pink stained bowl on the kitchen counter - strawberries. Jehan Prouvaire was always proud of his crop when the growth of something went well, and for all his room-mate’s complaining, everyone knew that Bahorel’s grumbling was all for show.

"On my bed, please." Grantaire requested, but it came out as a partial order, and something in Enjolras tingled at the thought. He stripped in the room, throwing his shirt and his trousers over Grantaire’s desk chair, shoes kicked under the desk, and moved onto the bed.

Grantaire entered the room with a pair of leather padded cuffs in his hand, and bound Enjolras’ hands to the top of his headboard without comment. Enjolras relaxed, taking in a breath that betrayed, perhaps, a mild anxiety, but he trusted Grantaire.

Grantaire reached out, moving a hand down Enjolras’ chest, and the blond arched, closing his eyes. His eyes remained tightly shut as he anticipated what he knew was coming, and then Grantaire  _did_ , thumbed over his left nipple. Enjolras let out a sharp sound, but then Grantaire began to move in earnest, playing and flicking over both sensitive buds with his thumb and forefinger of each hand.

"How does it feel?" Grantaire asked, and then, God, Enjolras felt the tickle of the brunet’s fringe over his clavicle as he dipped, to graze  _teeth_  over right nipple, and Enjolras let out a loud yelp rather than an answer. “Enjolra-aas.” Grantaire prompted again in a sing-song voice, and he was too smug, too pleased with himself, but then, God damn him, he bit down on Enjolras’ nipple, not too hard, but hard enough that Enjolras let out an almost-scream and his hips bucked.

"Good, good, good, God, fuck-" Grantaire began to tease over Enjolras’ cock with clever fingers as he dipped his head again, swirling his tongue over the other nipple, and then pulling back to blow on it. Grantaire’s breath was cold, and Enjolras  _hissed_ , but he pressed up for more of the same. 

Grantaire was suddenly straddling Enjolras’ thighs, one hand cupping the other’s dick, his right one twisting and pulling alternately at each nipple, making Enjolras yelp and whine and try and shift away, but Grantaire’s quiet, scolding sound was enough to keep Enjolras still. 

He caught Enjolras’ mouth on the next moan, but Enjolras couldn’t keep  _quiet_ , letting out whimper after whimper against Grantaire’s tongue and his lips, shivering. “ _Please_ _-“_

"You want more?"

Enjolras couldn’t even speak, merely nodding desperately as Grantaire put both hands to each of them, twisting and pulling and it  _hurt_  but God, Enjolras’ cock was  _hard_ , his skin was on fire, and everything felt ten times greater than great. 

Grantaire ground his hips against Enjolras’, smirking, and asked, “You gonna come? Just from  _this_?” And yes, Enjolras was, like he  _always_  did, because once Enjolras was inside Grantaire’s apartment he was no longer the leader, no longer in charge: he was obedient, but moreover, he was  _needy_.

Enjolras came with a desperate, drawn-out moan, convulsing under Grantaire’s weight, tipping his head right back. “Shush, hush, that’s it.” Grantaire said gently, stroking soothingly over Enjolras’ shoulders. He reached up, undoing the cuffs and taking them away from Enjolras’ wrists, setting them aside.

Enjolras took in heaving breaths, almost  _wheezing_ , as he blinked a few times, going limp, relaxed, against the wood board behind him. “You alright?” Grantaire asked quietly, and Enjolras nodded, dropping his head forwards, forehead against the other man’s chest. “How about some tea? And then you can tell me your idiotic opinions on anarchy.”

"They’re not idiotic, Grantaire, they-"

"No, tea first." Grantaire said sharply, crawling off the bed and going into the kitchen, and Enjolras groaned, dropping forwards and hiding his face against the bed.

"Don’t like you!" He called, and he heard Grantaire’s laughter echo in.

"I’ve enough love for both of us!" Grantaire returned, and Enjolras grinned a little, sprawling out across the sheets. He regretted this immediately, the sheets rubbing uncomfortably against his newly sore nipples, and he dropped onto his back, giving a soft sigh. "You want milk?"

"In my tea? Yeah. You don’t have it without milk."

"Many people, in fact, do."

"They’re wrong." Enjolras heard Grantaire’s exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "Fuck you."

"Fuck you too, blondie. Come get your damn tea."


End file.
